


Some Kind of Contact

by Glaciere



Category: Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-19 09:56:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glaciere/pseuds/Glaciere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's trying to decide if he can afford to cancel Spanish again, when Takizawa says, "Are you at the studio?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Kind of Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the start of Akutou filming. Yukio is the last Tsubasa's manager I know of.  
> This is for Pinkpapyrus, who gave me the push I needed to get back into writing T&T.

The soles of Tsubasa’s feet hurt. His right calf feels like it’s burning, and massaging it only makes it worse. It’s a good kind of pain, the one that tells him he’s worked hard. He stops the music and goes over to a yoga mat in a corner of the room. The tee-shirt he’s wearing sticks uncomfortably to his skin, completely drenched in sweat.

Tsubasa picks up his phone from the mat. He should probably stretch to avoid hurting a lot more tomorrow, but he’s planned to dance a little longer after the break. He jumps up and down a few times to get loose and thumbs through the phone book until he finds Takizawa’s name. 

Takizawa picks up on the third ring.

“Hi,” Tsubasa says. “What’cha doing?”

“Wait a minute,” Takizawa says, then falls silent. Tsubasa hears a door opening, hurried steps, a door opening and closing again. “Hi.”

“Where are you?”

Takizawa sighs. “On set.”

“Nice,” Tsubasa says dryly. He brushes his hair back from his eyes. The fringe’s gotten kind of long. “And it was supposed to be your day off.”

Takizawa’s silence sounds guilty enough, so Tsubasa gives up being annoyed. “Should I come over later? Do you want me to make something? I have a recording tomorrow, but I could stay, let’s see..." 

He's trying to decide if he can afford to cancel Spanish again, when Takizawa says, "Are you at the studio?"

"Yep," Tsubasa decides against messing with his Spanish tutor. She really wasn't happy the last couple of times he'd bailed on her. "Taking a break now. I can stay until six. Are you going to be up at six tomorrow? Yukio could give you a ride if you wanted."

"No, I'm good," Takizawa says. "Are you practicing while cramping?"

"No. Stop worrying." Tsubasa touches his calf in an automatic response, traces the muscles with his fingers, pressing slightly. The clock in the studio tells him ten minutes he’s allocated for break are over. “I have to go,” he tells Takizawa. “Don’t stay on set too late, ‘kay?”

Tsubasa disconnects without saying goodbye and stands up, wincing as the pain in his leg flares up. The best way to stop hurting is to dance some more, though; there’s a move he can’t quite grasp despite watching every recording of Burn The Floor he has so many times he’s started dreaming about it. There’s a little half-step after a second four-count he always forgets to make. 

Tsubasa practices until he hears Yukio knocking on the door, stumbles a little coming down from the dance high straight into the overworked territory. Tsubasa barely catches himself when his leg gives way under him, mutters a curse under his breath.

His phone starts to ring at the same time he’s reached the door. When Tsubasa opens it, Takizawa lowers his own phone.

“Were you lying about not cramping?” Takizawa steps forward, far into Tsubasa’s personal space, and Tsubasa can barely close the door behind him. Out of habit, Takizawa checks the lock before pushing Tsubasa back. Step by step they reach the chair Tsubasa’s been practicing with. He sits down heavily.

“It’s really nothing,” Tsubasa tries to say. Takizawa draws his brows together and takes his shoes off, sits on the floor in front of Tsubasa. 

His hand hovers near Tsubasa’s knees. “Which one?”

Tsubasa sighs. “The right one.”

Takizawa takes him by the ankle, tugs slightly until Tsubasa’s foot is in his lap, rolls the pant leg further up; his fingers are gentle, but whenever he touches a sore spot Tsubasa gasps in pain. Takizawa trails his fingernails up Tsubasa’s calf, presses a bit more into his skin.

“So,” Tsubasa says to distract him. “I've got a script in my bag.”

Takizawa hums, starts to massage Tsubasa’s leg, digging his knuckles into the flesh. Tsubasa bites his lips. 

“It hurts,” he says sullenly.

Takizawa snorts. “I guess you shouldn't have danced until you sprained a muscle, then. What script?”

“We have a couple appearances on TV booked,” Tsubasa wriggles his toes and tries to kick Takizawa in the chest, but Takizawa’s sitting too far for it to work. He gets his foot tickled for all his trouble, which is just unfair. “Stop that!” He demands, laughing. Takizawa just grins at him, bright as usual despite having worked the whole day. “You’re a horrible human being. They’ll be running a couple’s quiz, can I tell them the staff at the restaurant thought we were a couple?”

“It does *not* say ‘a couple’s quiz’,” Takizawa sounds doubtful. “And the staff didn't think we were a couple!”

He’s stopped massaging Tsubasa’s calf just as it started to feel nice. Tsubasa nudges him a little, and Takizawa pats his thigh.

“I’m pretty sure they did,” Tsubasa tells him, smirking. “I think we forgot to zip your pants.”

Takizawa stares at him for a couple of seconds, then drops his head onto Tsubasa’s leg. “Oh God.”

“I don’t think the waiter knows enough Japanese to tell someone, though,” Tsubasa says, trying not to laugh. “So, can I tell them that?”

“No!” Takizawa’s voice jumps a bit too high, which is so funny Tsubasa actually loses his balance. He’s still laughing on the ground, though it sounds more like coughing. 

“Ow,” Tsubasa says halfheartedly. “Thanks for the massage, I’m fine now. Feel free to give my leg back anytime.”

Takizawa drums his fingers on Tsubasa’s knee and scratches it a little, sending a small ripple of shock through Tsubasa’s whole body.

“No,” Takizawa says, leans in to lick a long stripe of Tsubasa’s skin, ending just under his knee. “I like your leg.”

“My leg likes you too,” Tsubasa murmurs, aware that his level of coherence is dropping fast. He’s sure he’s become trained to respond to Takizawa like a puppy. He’s also sure they aren’t normal, because all the other couples he knows don’t get aroused by the smallest thing their partner does after years together.

Takizawa bites into the soft skin in the dip of Tsubasa’s knee, just so that the pressure is enough to make a still strained muscles ache; when he drags his teeth down, Tsubasa’s breath hitches and he bites his lip, trying to keep still but failing. He tries to catch a hold of Takizawa, his shoulder, the back of his head, anything, but he’s too far away.

“This is just embarrassing,” Tsubasa says, trying for a stern tone. His voice is rough. “Quit slobbering all over my leg.”

Takizawa’s tongue flickers out for a moment. He shrugs with a decisive, “No.”

His fingers find Tsubasa’s stomach, though, and Takizawa flattens his palm against it, rubbing with the tips of his fingertips. He pushes the heel of his hand against the waistband of Tsubasa’s training pants, going so slowly Tsubasa can’t help but arch into his hand. 

They stay silent throughout, until Takizawa’s fingers curl around Tsubasa’s cock through the fabric.

“I want a little more contact, please,” Tsubasa says. The words scratch his throat when they come out. Takizawa shifts so he’s standing on his knees over Tsubasa. His hair is cut short and unfamiliar, and Tsubasa strains forward to kiss it, but Takizawa leans back.

“What else do you want,” he murmurs, keeping his strokes more like caresses, slow and almost chaste. Tsubasa smiles up at him. This is a game they both can play.

“I want you to jack me off,” he says; Takizawa sneaks his hand under the waistband, reaching until he can wrap his fingers around Tsubasa’s cock. His hand is cool and dry, which is just a little bit uncomfortable, just enough for Tsubasa to suck his breath in through his teeth. “I want you to suck me off. I want there to be cameras when you do it,” he says into Takizawa’s face above him, dark and closed off. When Takizawa’s very turned on he looks the way he does when he’s ready to cry. Tsubasa brushes Takizawa’s face with his fingers, staying on his mouth a little until Takizawa licks one of them. “I want to tattoo you on myself.” Tsubasa’s hips are rocking back and forth without any input from his brain; Takizawa’s strokes are firm and fast and hurt a little without any lube, and Tsubasa can barely speak. “I want…”

Takizawa leans down to kiss him; Tsubasa can taste the sweat on his upper lip, the muted, bitter taste of cigarettes, and when Takizawa squeezes his hand again, he cries out and comes. 

As always, he’s completely knackered after sex. Any dancing would be impossible now.

Tsubasa squints up at Takizawa, suddenly suspicious.

“Are you kidding me.”

Takizawa has the audacity to smirk. Tsubasa slaps him across the chest, but he’s so out of it the slap is more of a stroke. His realization doesn't really kill the afterglow, but Tsubasa feels the need to be properly strict with manipulative, scheming little bastards who have sex with him to stop him from practicing.

“I’m so not bringing you off now,” he says. Takizawa’s smirk grows into a grin.

“I’ll manage.”

“I’m also not making you dinner.” Tsubasa informs him. His back starts to hurt from lying on the floor, and he pokes Takizawa in the shoulder. “Get me up.”

Takizawa heaves him up, brushing Tsubasa’s hair back and giving him a fleeting kiss. 

“You should go home.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “I have to get back. Will probably stay late, so it won’t make any sense for you to come over. See you Tuesday? When’s the recording?”

“I think we have something on the radio before that. Stop talking to me about work.”

Takizawa’s answering smile is soft. “It’s nice to have work.”

Tsubasa cringes. “Yeah,” he says, “It is.” And then, because this will be all he’s going to get for the next several days, he says: “Just so you know, I’m telling them about this.”


End file.
